The Boba Fett Trilogy

Boba activated his jetpack and prayed Solo had not damaged it permanently. Flames erupted from beneath him, burning the Sarlacc's tentacles severely. Recoiling in pain, the digestive tendrils receded and Fett found himself rising into the air out of control, his back and legs burned from the jetpack exhaust. Ignoring the searing pain of his burns, Boba fired his wrist dart directly at the closing hole above. The dart fired, blowing the beak-like tongue of the Sarlacc wide open just as Boba passed through the slime covered opening.

Boba hit the sand inside the pit hard as his jetpack finally deactivated, completely spent and he found himself slipping back down into the spike filled maw. Boba pulled out a vibro blade from his utility belt and stabbed frantically at the sand as he fell. It was no use, he was falling right back towards the very hole he had just escaped from. The Sarlacc's damaged tongue retreated into the creature as its thick tentacles began thrashing around wildly. The creature was clearly in pain from his attack. Good, Fett thought even as he fell. Bleed you bastard.

A second before he plummeted back into the spiked base of the pit, Boba grabbed onto the only thing he could: one of the writhing tentacles of the Sarlacc itself. Boba was thrust violently left and right as he struggled to hold on. He felt weaker than he ever had in his life, yet running on adrenalin alone Boba stabbed at the muscular tentacle and managed to cling on by jamming the knife in and holding tight. The Boba felt his body slammed hard against the sand and he nearly lost his grip. With his last ounce of strength, he again stabbed the Sarlacc tentacle in desperation and held on for dear life. Reacting instinctively to the pain, the Sarlacc threw Fett off its tentacle, sending him high into the air, just clearing the mouth of the pit. With a painful landing, Boba Fett found himself on the sands above. He clawed his way forward with every ounce of his remaining strength, dragging himself away from the insanity below.

When he was at least twenty feet from the mouth of the Pit of Carkoon, Boba rolled over on his back in complete exhaustion. He felt drained, nearly dead. Every inch of his body screamed with pain like he was on fire. His vision dimmed as he nearly passed into unconsciousness from the agony exploding through every nerve ending in his body. Gasping for breath, he rolled over onto his stomach again, his helmet-covered face down in the sand.

A shrill barking cry came to Boba's ears as he struggled to maintain consciousness. With a monumental effort he managed to raise his head just enough to unclasp his helmet and push it off. He nearly slipped unconscious right then, but another growling bark brought him back to the world. He looked up slowly, his eyes barely able to focus. When he saw what was before him, he wished he'd gone blind like Solo had after carbon freeze.

The Tusken Raiders surrounded him. Their gaffi sticks raised over their vicious heads as they screamed in outrage. The tallest of them advanced towards Boba, bellowing out fierce growls. He didn't understand their language. But he got the message. Boba Fett had just profaned their ritual and injured their god.

The Tuskens wanted blood. His blood.

The Boba Fett Trilogy Part 3

The Son of Carkoon

Boba Fett laid face down in the sand, the overwhelming darkness of the Tatooine night surrounding him. The cool night air did little to alleviate the searing pain that had him on the edge of consciousness. Boba could hear the writhing of the Sarlacc behind him, a grim reminder of how close he still was to the deadly creature that had nearly been his doom. But as menacing as the hissing and slithering behind him was, from directly in front of him came an even more ominous sound.

Fett raised his throbbing head up and looked again upon the ring of enraged Tusken Raiders approaching him slowly. Their leader was a tall, brutal looking creature carrying an asymmetrical gaffi stick over his head as he bellowed his challenges to Boba in a harsh, guttural language.

Boba felt drained. He felt like a shell of his former self. Almost every inch of his skin burned as if he'd been set on fire. He couldn't be sure of how much time he'd been an unwitting prisoner of the Sarlacc, but one thing was clear: it had slowly been sucking him dry. His usually strong arm muscles felt like their strength had been almost totally sapped. The escape from the Pit of Carkoon had taken everything he had. Now, it was only with great effort that he had found the strength to even raise his head. As the deadly desert raiders closed within a few feet of him, Boba realized grimly that he may have avoided a slow death inside the Sarlacc only to meet his fate right here at the hands of the Sand People.

"Orr Agg R'orr!" the Tusken leader bellowed as it stepped before Boba, swinging its gaffi stick viciously at his head. Boba raised his arm to deflect the blow and was knocked onto his side, his entire world seeming to grow dim for a moment. A dull ringing filled Boba's ears as he tried to focus his eyes on the attacker before him.

The Tusken yelled in anger and defiance again and moved in for another strike. Boba realized this could be the killing blow if he didn't think fast. It was nearly impossible to think at all with the pain searing through his body. His blaster rifle was...somewhere...destroyed...his wrist rocket he'd used already. Reaching down with his left hand he began feeling frantically for anything he could use to defend himself. The Tusken was swinging the gaffi stick back...he had only seconds left to act.

Then he felt it: his knee-mounted rocket dart launcher. He had no time to move his leg or even hope to aim it. In desperation, Fett press the manual fire switch on the device and held his breath as the Tusken weapon came down.

A sudden hiss of micro-rocket engines ignited on Boba's knee. The small, explosive tipped micro-rockets fired, hitting the Tusken Raider point blank in the leg. The vicious Raider howled in pain and dropped its gaderffi stick to the ground as its upper leg was pierced by the small rockets. Boba was amazed the weapon had fired at all, considering the time it had spent along with him inside the slime covered depths of the Sarlacc. And yet, the darts had failed to explode upon impact. As the Tusken realized it was not mortally wounded, it let out an even more enraged scream and reached down for its dropped weapon.

Suddenly the micro-rockets exploded inside the Tusken's leg, blowing the limb clean off with a dull shredding sound. The Tusken was thrown onto the ground, its stump of a leg bleeding profusely. Even in his dazed state, Boba realized the creature would die within seconds from the massive wound.

Boba looked up to see the rest of the Tusken raiding party raising their weapons in the air and barking with rage. As he looked at the assembled Raiders, he tried to quickly count them. There were over ten, but it was hard to focus his eyes and concentrate with the ringing in his ears. As the fallen Tusken leader clutching at its missing leg began to move less and less from massive blood loss, Boba surmised that they would not exactly be pleased with him for first profaning their Sarlacc worship and now killing off their chief.

Boba had seen enough riots on various worlds to know mob mentality well. As the Tuskens began to grow louder, he realized he had to act fast and he was nearly out of tricks. The Tuskens were working up the courage to rush him as their yelling grew more frantic and their movements more erratic. Reaching into his left utility pocket, he found it empty; his jump suit had been partially shredded, no doubt by the Sarlacc. He rolled over slightly and felt a sonic grenade on his belt. The small weapon was useful for crowd control, but little else. He had used them many times to clear a path to a bounty.

As the Raiders finally broke into a quick advance toward him, Boba threw the sonic grenade in desperation with the little strength he could muster. It landed not nearly far enough from him as Boba covered his ears and buried his face in the sand. The sonic explosion shook his body and opening his eyes to look up, he saw the Sand People retreating.

The grenade had scattered them, but he had at the most startled his enemies. The small weapon had bought him some time. Alone in the unforgiving Tatooine night, he wondered how he would ever get through this nightmare.

The Tusken leader had finally gone still, its dark blood pouring into the sand from its severed leg. Boba pulled himself towards the fallen creature on his hands and knees. He knew he had nowhere near the strength to stand--if he tried he'd surely pass out. Crawling over the Tusken's body, he began searching the corpse for weapons. There was a long barreled Tusken Cycler with scope strapped to the creature's back. Boba ripped the ancient weapon roughly from the dead Tusken and pulled an ammo bandolier from across its chest. In the distance he could hear the growls and answering calls of the Tuskens as they were no doubt regrouping.

Looking back towards the Pit of Carkoon, he struggled to find any kind of shelter or obstacle he could use to shield himself. To his surprise, off to his right was a large pile of black and grey debris, looking like a starship had crashed into the sand. Not a ship...a sail barge. It was the wreckage of Jabba's Khetanna, no doubt destroyed by Skywalker and Solo as they made their escape. Boba shook his head as the memory of the Battle of Carkoon came back to him, no longer hidden from him by the manipulations of the Sarlacc. It had been a day of defeat for both Jabba and himself. But there was a difference: Fett was still alive. And he intended to survive this night no matter what.

Boba looked down and took a quick appraisal of his gear. It could hardly be called equipment at this point, the Sarlacc had seen to that. Most of his jumpsuit was shredded and ripped. His utility belt was now empty and all his backup weapons were lost. His chest armor was cracked and burned from some kind of corrosive acid and hardly looked capable of providing protection anymore. His jetpack...he knew it probably expended the last of its fuel in escaping the Pit. Its bulk and weight were hardly helping him right now. Boba unclasped his chest armor and leaning back against the body of the Tusken, began sliding his jetpack off. Appraising it, he found the large rocket still intact, but the fuel itself was totally spent. His helmet was a few feet away from him, lying in the sand. Boba placed the ammo bandolier and the rifle on top of the jetpack and began slowly pushing it across the sand towards his helmet. Grabbing his damaged helmet, he added it to the top of the pile and began pushing his horde in the direction of the sail barge wreckage.

It was slow going. The howls of the Sand People behind him kept Boba looking constantly back over his shoulder as he pushed his remaining equipment slowly away from the Sarlacc and towards the smoldering remains of Jabba's former transport. His back and legs were on fire from the burns his jetpack had given him while escaping the Pit. His head still ached from the strike of the Tusken's gaffi stick. Every muscle in his body screamed out for him to stop moving as he continued to push himself forward in the sand on sheer willpower. Stopping to look back, he could see the shadows of the Tuskens growing closer as they closed in on him. They were spread out now, approaching him cautiously. He wondered how many of them had rifles like the one he had stolen. Hopefully it was a privilege reserved for their leaders.

Suddenly Boba's stomach seized up in a fit of nausea. He began retching into the sand, but nothing would come up. He convulsed as the dry heaves shook his body for a full half minute, until he finally could slowly crawl forward once more. What the hell did that thing do to me? He wondered, as he tried to get his body under control. He hardly felt like himself anymore. The greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy, too weak to run, too weak to even stand. He began to question if his maddeningly slow pace would ever get him there, when suddenly he tapped against a large piece of debris from the destroyed sail barge.

Boba exhaled, hardly believing he had made it the mere fifty yards he had crossed to get here. Pulling himself around behind the twisted chunk of metal stuck in the ground, he finally felt some measure of safety. Slowly crawling behind the wreckage and pulling his stash of equipment with him, he had cover for the first time.

Boba leaned back and closed his eyes. He needed rest. Just to rest for a few minutes...then he could deal with the Tuskens. After a few minutes of rest...

The bounty hunter fell over on his side, completely unconscious. And all around him, the Tusken Raiders closed in.

BOBA.

He ignored the voice. Couldn't he just die in peace?

BOBA, GET UP NOW!

Boba opened his eyes and found himself slumped down on his side completely passed out. He shook his head and struggled to sit up behind the sail barge debris. He couldn't hear the Tuskens anymore. Had they given up? He didn't think it was likely. How long had he been out? That voice...

A rustle of sand not far away caught his attention. They were close, he was sure of it now. Boba grabbed the projectile rifle and leaned around the side of the metal debris. Two shot flashes range out and Boba ducked back just as the Tusken shots hit the metal barrier protecting him.

Silently he cursed his own weakness for losing consciousness. They were right on top of him. If the Tuskens weren't such terrible shots, he'd be dead right now. Raising the long rifle in his arms, he spun around the side of the wreckage and shot at one of the flashes, aiming from memory. Another shot answered his and he twisted back behind his cover.

Quickly he appraised his weapon. The scope was little more than a glorified magnifying glass, and useless in the night. He unscrewed the bolt and removed the scope, throwing it into the sand next to him. Boba picked up his damaged helmet by the targeting rangefinder and smashed it onto the metal debris behind him, bending the metal pin anchoring the targeting device. The thin metal holding the rangefinder in place bent and Boba slammed it again as the rangefinder broke loose. The targeting eyepiece had its own micro-power supply...he just prayed it would last him the next ten minutes. Ignoring the shot that pelted the metal behind him, he methodically tore two thin strips of cloth from his shredded jumpsuit and used them to tie the rangefinder tightly onto the top of the long barreled Tusken Cycler. He snorted wryly as he appraised his makeshift sight. Accuracy was going to be extremely problematic with such a makeshift mounting. But it just might give him an advantage...

Boba pulled off the remains of his left glove and pressed the tiny activation button on the rangefinder. A small electronic glow indicated there was still power to the device. Pressing the small option button, Boba Fett smiled with satisfaction as the rangefinder switched to nightvision mode, casting a green glow through its tiny view window.

Boba reached into the ammo pouch he had dragged along and loaded a round into the breach the bolt action rifle. Crawling low on his stomach, he peered out to the right side of his cover and saw the dark shape of a Tusken crawling towards him in the sand only twenty meters away. Fett took aim through the make-shift sight and quickly found the creature in the green nightvision glow. Firing, he watched as the sand two feet to the right of the Tusken flew up from the miss of his shot. The Tusken was startled and began rising to its feet, preparing to charge Boba now that its stealth approach had been uncovered. Boba methodically opened the breach, loaded another round, and took aim. Adjusting his aim off-center to account for the misalignment of the tied-on sight, he fired again at the advancing raider, catching it in the chest, killing it instantly.

Fett felt the adrenaline course through his veins as the power of having a deadly weapon in his hands gave him the confidence of a predator once more. It was a feeling he had long been accustomed to and he felt vengeance seething up within him as he reloaded the rifle quickly. Rolling back to his left, he took aim at an armed Tusken through his night-sight and blasted the creature through the eye.

A return shot struck the sand to his left, which Fett ignored, reloading and raising up onto his knee to take aim and blast the third armed Tusken in the throat. The creature fell, clutching its wound as Boba methodically reloaded and took aim at yet another Raider. He coldly blasted the creature through the top of its head, killing it instantly.

Boba lowered the rifle to appraise his remaining foes. There were grunts calling to each other in the night. He guessed there were at least five, maybe six more out there, but he couldn't see them. Boba reached into his stolen ammo bandolier and found only three projectiles left. He wanted to scream in frustration. He finally had the tool to survive and was now almost out of ammunition!

Boba could hear the remaining Tuskens beginning to advance. He felt his strength wavering from raising up to kneel for so long and was forced to drop back to the ground. He had to get them all somehow. Kill them all with one blow. But how?

Boba looked back to his stash of equipment. They would be closing in on it soon. Even with three more perfect shots, there were still enough Raiders to overwhelm him. Starring at the rocket pack, Boba quickly formed a plan of desperation.

Crawling silently and slowly, his rifle along side him, Boba moved towards a second pile of debris from Jabba's destroyed vessel, off to his rear left. It was not far, and not nearly as large as the metal he had first taken shelter behind, but it was his only chance. Boba kept his Cycler slightly above the sand, careful not to bump and misalign his rangefinder. Coming to the small debris pile, he sat back against the metal and looked back to his stash of equipment twenty meters behind him. As far as the Tuskens knew, he was still hiding there, behind his first bunker.

Boba waiting silently, not moving a muscle. The oppressive blackness of the night closed in around him and the grunts of the Tuskens grew ever closer. Suddenly six Tuskens swarmed his original hiding place, leaping out with precision to attack the place he had been only minutes before. The vicious raiders smashed at his helmet with their gaderffi sticks, clubbed at his jetpack and looked around frantically for signs of Boba.

In one swift motion, Boba raised his rifle and aimed directly at the tip of the rocket in his jetpack. The Tuskens saw the movement and glared at him, raising their gaderffi sticks over their heads in anger. Boba shot the rocket, striking it perfectly. The explosion ripped into the clustered attackers, the metal fragments from the jetpack and rocket tearing them limb from limb. Boba lowered the rifle and blinked his eyes, trying to recover from the flash blindness the explosion had caused him.

Rubbing his eyes with his hand, he finally slumped over on his side, completely unconscious.

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There was white light all around him. Boba Fett felt his body being jostled and pulled at. He wanted to fight, to strike out, but felt himself in a dream state he could not break free of. The hot suns were beating down on him from above. Opening his eyes for a moment, he saw the sand passing beneath him. There was an animal stench under him and coarse brown hair all around. Boba heard the bray of a bantha and the answering noise of Tuskens. He couldn't fight them anymore, he was spent. There was nothing left. He closed his eyes again, feeling the soft brown fur of the large animal beneath him...carrying him.